


put up with me then I'll make you see

by hyenateeth



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Developing Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Gift Giving, Pining Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 03:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2836208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyenateeth/pseuds/hyenateeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re doing that quiet thoughtful judge-y thing again,” grumbled Enjolras, moodily flipping the page of her political science textbook. “I don’t like that.” </p><p>“I am not.” </p><p>“You so are-”</p><p>“I’m just wondering,” interrupted Combeferre, the barely suppressed laugh in his voice evident. “How she went from <i>that damn noisy girl upstairs</i> to <i>I want to get Grantaire a Christmas present</i> in just a few months.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	put up with me then I'll make you see

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nattoki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nattoki/gifts).



“Yo ho ho,” greeted Grantaire when the door opened, immediately thrusting the misshapen package of shiny red plastic wrap and green ribbon out in offering. “Merry Christmas!”

Enjolras looked from Grantaire’s face, to the package in her hands. 

“You mean _ho ho ho_. Yo ho ho is for pirates.”

“Damn, I fucked up! Well give me all your treasure and take the damn cookies, matey.” 

Delicately Enjolras picked up the package from Grantaire’s hands. “Thank you. Did you make them?”

“Fuck no,” laughed Grantaire, brushing her black, messy hair out of her face. “They’re from my mom. She gets a little excited about holiday baking and sends me a bunch of stuff weeks in advance.”

“Ah. I was wondering why you were giving me a Christmas gift on December 3rd, but I thought it would be rude to question it.”

“Hah! Yeah, and we all know how you hate to be rude!” She shifted her weight back and shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “I figured, what with finals coming around, you might like a treat. To reward yourself during study breaks or some shit you academics do.”

“I... Thank you.”

“Hey, its nothing! Literally, its nothing at all, my mom sends me too many cookies and you were the first person I could fob them off on.”

Enjolras nodded seriously, looking at the cookies in her hand. “Thank you anyway. Its very thoughtful.”

“Hardly. Like... Look, I should probably go-” She cut herself off, waving her hand vaguely upwards. 

Enjolras just nodded, saying a polite farewell as Grantaire grinned at her, saying “See you later Rapunzel.”

Later, as Enjolras sat on her couch, she tasted one of the cookies. They were good, sort of crumbly, with cinnamon and sugar coating them. 

As she ate it, she heard the tell-tale thumping of Grantaire walking in the apartment above hers, and she smiled.

* * *

Enjolras had moved into her first ever apartment around 6 months ago, at the end of May, and she was just beginning to settle in.

It wasn’t a great place, because she had insisted on getting a place she could afford without (much) parental assistance. They had paid for most of her schooling, and for her dorm for the past few years, but Enjolras wanted, no, needed to start striking out on her own. So, shitty studio apartment it was, in the kind of building that was set up like a hotel, open-air walkways and everything in a row. 4 stories, with Enjolras on the second. 

Apartment number 205. That was her. 

It wasn’t that bad really. It had a kitchenette, and the carpet seemed clean, and she bought herself a nice bed, which Combeferre and Courfeyrac had helped her move in.

(At some point while moving in she had noticed, right above her, a woman looking over the railing, eyeing her and smoking a cigarette. Her dark hair was tied back messily, and she leaned heavily on the railing as she watched them unload boxes. Unsure what else to do, Enjolras raised her hand in a stiff wave. The woman hesitated, then returned the gesture, before grinding her cigarette out and rushing back into her apartment. Apartment 305.) 

They had had a small housewarming party, because Enjolras would not let Courfeyrac throw something bigger and the place wouldn’t fit something bigger, and then Enjolras was left alone. 

“I can stay,” Combeferre had offered, quietly aside as the others were leaving. “If you don’t want to be alone.”

“I’ll be fine,” Enjolras had insisted. How hard could being alone really be? Enjolras liked her privacy. It would be fine.

Turns out she wasn’t quite as fine as she had initially suspected. It was weird, and quiet and lonely. She hadn’t set up her TV or internet yet and it was just... it was weird. Lonely. Too quiet. 

At least, for a while. Around midnight, Enjolras was beginning to wonder about getting to sleep, because this new, quiet space was wearing on her nerves. Maybe she should call Combeferre. Except, she reminded herself, she was an adult now. She was 20 years old. The whole point of this was to strike out on her own. She couldn’t call her best friend at every turn. 

Then, above her, she heard a door slamming, followed by the loud thumping of feet. Immediately, Enjolras had bristled. The girl upstairs from her, in 305. Who was apparently, the nosiest person ever. How loudly could a person walk? Was she a clog dancer?

Despite her anger though, she found herself drifting to sleep a few minutes later, as the girl in 305 assumedly turned on her shower, if the obscenely noisy rushing and creaking from the pipes in her own apartment were any indication.

So maybe the noise wasn’t that bad. It was better than quiet, at any rate.

* * *

“I think I want to get Grantaire a Christmas present.” 

“Grantaire?” Combeferre raised his eyebrows slightly. “How long have you even known her?” 

“She lives above me-”

“You hate getting people presents. You get everyone gift cards every year.”

Enjolras pursed her lips and fell silent, letting her eyes fall back down to her textbook determinedly. Next to her she heard Combeferre sigh. 

“Enjolras, you-”

“She gave me cookies. For finals week. So I should get her something.” 

“Oh, that’s nice. Did she make them?”

“Her mom did.”

“Hm.”

“You’re doing that quiet thoughtful judge-y thing again,” grumbled Enjolras, moodily flipping the page of her political science textbook. “I don’t like that.” 

“I am not.” 

“You so are-”

“I’m just wondering,” interrupted Combeferre, the barely suppressed laugh in his voice evident. “How she went from _that damn noisy girl upstairs_ to _I want to get Grantaire a Christmas present_ in just a few months.”

Involuntarily, her cheeks heated up. “Whatever. Lets get back to studying.”

“Enjolras its okay if you have a-”

“Studying, Combeferre!”

Combeferre broke off with a chuckle. “Fine, studying. But... Don’t feel obligated to get her something just cause she gave you something. It doesn’t work like that.”

Enjolras didn’t respond. Of course she knew it didn’t work like that. She didn’t buy into weird consumerist notions like gifts having to be reciprocal, gifts were supposed to be a kind gesture. And Grantaire, she was just a neighbor, a neighbor who had become her friend and called her Rapunzel and gave her cookies to eat while she studied. 

She knew she didn’t have to get Grantaire anything. 

But. Well.

She wanted too.

* * *

She hadn’t spoken to Grantaire, or even learned her name, until about a month into her stay in her new apartment. She mostly just silently fumed about the noise of her footsteps, thumping above her at all hours of the day. 

“Its probably just your apartment,” Courfeyrac assured her once when she was complaining about it. “They’re like that sometimes. There’s like, a space or something that amplifies the noise.”

That didn’t make it any better. Surely 305 could walk lighter, or at least not stumble around at weird hours of the night, apparently. 

Not that Enjolras was usually sleeping at that point. It was still summer break, so Enjolras felt justified staying up late, even if it wasn’t studying. 

Still, that didn’t excuse 305 stumbling home between midnight to (a couple times) four in the morning every night, clomping around and taking a very noisy shower. Just cause Enjolras wasn’t trying to sleep through it, and in fact could if she wanted to and okay maybe once or twice past the first night she had fallen asleep to the rushing of pipes and the knowledge that someone else was out there... 

The girl shouldn’t be so loud, was the point. 

Of course it wasn’t until about a month in that it had actually occurred to go up to Apartment 305 and yell at the girl.

The thing was, she had suddenly disappeared. Or, more accurately, her noise had disappeared. There had been the usual afternoon footsteps (Enjolras assumed that was when she woke up, which was highly irresponsible, really) and then she had heard her leaving her apartment then... nothing.

For three days.

And alright, so _maybe_ Enjolras had become a touch too invested in the footsteps of a girl she she had never even met and _maybe_ Courfeyrac was right when she said she needed a cat or a hamster or a ficus or something to keep her company, but that wasn’t the point.

What was the point was that the girl straight up disappeared and that was worrisome. She could be kidnapped, or sick, or even dead. 

And maybe on the second day she called Combeferre and voiced these concerns and Combeferre just sighed and told her to come hang out at the apartment he and Courfeyrac shared because clearly she was feeling lonely and it was making her weird. 

Enjolras was offended at the implication, but did go over to their place (bigger and fancier than hers) and they hung out for a while, so that was nice.

Unfortunately her apartment was still silent when she got back that night, apart from the distant noise of some party happening on the first floor somewhere, probably at the other end of the building. 

It was not very comforting.

It wasn’t until finally, on the third day, at nine at night, she heard the door in the apartment above her slam, and the stomping of feet above her head. 

And Enjolras had a thing about impulse control, she was suddenly out the door. 

When she was knocking on the door forcefully she maybe began to second guess herself, but it was too late now. The door was already opening.

And sure enough, in front of her was the girl from when she moved in, curly black hair tied back, mascara smudged around her eyes, red lipstick half worn off, eyebrow cocked.

She was... not what Enjolras expected up close. It was hard to explain. She was unconventional looking, but it was also appealing, in its way.

“Can I help you?” she asked. Her voice was kind of raspy, and sounded tired. It was also kind of pretty, all things considered. Enjolras didn’t normally notice things like the relative ‘prettiness’ of people’s voices, but her voice sounded nice, noticeably so.

Weird.

Maybe that was why she sort of panicked and just ended up snapping “You’re very inconsiderate, you know that?” in greeting. 

The girl’s eyebrows went from cocked to raised. “What was that?”

“You! You’re inconsiderate!”

She blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“I mean first you’re unbelievably noisy-”

“I’m what?”

“Always stomping around at weird times of night, but the you just disappear? What if you had died? What if you had been kidnapped?”

“What?”

“How do you think that would make me feel? I move into a new place and then suddenly my upstairs neighbor dies and I have no idea? What-”

And then all of a sudden there was a warm hand over Enjolras’ mouth, cutting her off in a sputter of noise.

“Look,” said the girl, and her hand smelled like Dial hand soap, with a slight lingering scent of cigarettes and something else, something chemical. (Paint thinner, she would later learn.) “I don’t know what the hell you’re going on about. I’m not sure if you’re on something or just-” She made a vague gesture with her free hand. “- _Like this._ But I do know that I am too tired for this. I just spent days being lectured by my homophobic father and I just had the longest bus ride ever and I’m tired and want to sleep and I don’t need to be lectured by _you._ ”

Then she dropped her hands and shrugged, her shoulders rolling lazily. “Sorry you can hear me walking I guess. I work weird hours so I get home late. These apartments are pretty loud, I hear my neighbor like that too. You learn to ignore it, but I’ll try to be quieter.”

Enjolras was aware she was probably blushing. Her face felt hot, and she was definitely embarrassed. “Thanks.” Then, awkwardly: “Sorry about your dad.”

“Not your problem.”

“Right, I- I’m gonna go.”

The girl watched Enjolras shuffle off, face flaming with embarrassment. 

And that was how they met. 

(A week later Enjolras had slipped a letter in the 305 mailbox that just said “I wasn’t on anything, I’m just like that. My friends say I’m too intense. Sorry. -Enjolras.” Two days later she got a note slipped in hers that said “I pity your friends then. - R.”)

* * *

She started mission “Get Grantaire something perfect for the holidays” by going to Jehan. 

Jehan had known Grantaire longer than most of the Amis, the group Enjolras co-founded and Grantaire sort of unofficially joined a few months back. It had been kind of weird, finding out that they actually shared a friend group without knowing it, but Enjolras had mostly adjusted.

So she went to Jehan, because she had known Grantaire the longest. She found her studying for finals in a very small, dim cafe, surrounded by haphazard stacks of books with odd titles, her short red hair unusually mussed.

“Hello Enjolras,” said Jehan in her serene voice, seemingly unaffected by her chaotic surroundings. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit.”

“I had a question,” said Enjolras, moving a book ( _The History of Death Symbols in Western Literature_ ) so she could sit down at her table. 

“About the Amis? Cause I’m a little busy right now with Baudelaire right now, not that I wouldn’t love to help-”

“No, actually not about- um- I want to get Grantaire a present and I thought you could help me.”

Jehan’s book snapped shut and her grey eyes, which were always surprisingly intense for the slight girl, fixed on her. 

“You never get anyone gifts. You give everyone gift cards. I got a Barnes and Nobel gift card last year. Probably this year too.”

Enjolras felt her face heat up. “Gift cards are good, solid gifts! They strike a balance between the personal and versatile! Do you not _like_ the Barnes and Nobel card because I can-” 

“No Enjolras, I like it very much. I bought a whole series of books on poison last year, it was very nice.” 

“Okay good but if you would rather-”

“Not my point Enjolras.” Jehan always had a funny quality to her smiles. They were a weird mix of sinister and charming. “I’m just saying, why not get Grantaire a gift card? Maybe to an art supply store?” 

Enjolras faltered. She had considered it, briefly. After all, Grantaire complained regularly about the cost of paint and brushes and mediums (and six month ago she hadn’t even known what a medium was but Grantaire had been talking about it with Feuilly once and somehow Enjolras had ended up listening in), it would probably be nice to take some of the burden off buying them, but, _but-_

“She gave me some of her mom’s cookies,” was all Enjolras managed to sheepishly reply. 

Jehan raised her eyebrows. “Which cookies?”

“There are more than one?”

“Grantaire’s mom makes a lot of cookies. Which kind?”

“I... don’t know, they were kind of cinnamon-y...”

“Oh those! The _bunuelos_. Those are good.”

“How is this-”

“So you just want to get her a gift cause she shared her mom’s cookies with you?”

This was going in the same direction her conversation with Combeferre had gone, and Enjolras did not like it one bit. It was not a place the conversation should go. 

“Does it matter? I just want to get her a gift. Can you help?”

Jehan, to her credit, did not push. Instead, she thoughtfully tapped her chin with the highlighter she had not put down. “The best gift I ever got was a really beautiful old cow skull.” 

Enjolras should have expected this. “That... doesn’t seem like Grantaire’s style, somehow.”

“No, I suppose not. She never has been about subtle beauty, she likes the more _obvious._ ” 

For some reason Jehan punctuated that with a vague hand gesture in Enjolras’ direction, and she had no idea what that meant. 

“Oh!” went Jehan. “What if you pressed flowers into a book!”

Enjolras wrinkled her nose. “Isn’t that kind of...”

“Well if you’re opposed to cliche they could be _dangerous_ flowers, I have-”

“That’s okay Jehan.”

Jehan shrugged. “Suit yourself. Now unless you want to help me study for this paper I need to write, could you-”

Enjolras was already standing as Jehan flapped her delicate hand in a shooing motion.

So that wasn’t very helpful.

* * *

As much as she resented her friend’s light teasing about it, Enjolras couldn’t quite place when her and Grantaire’s relationship had gone from just neighbors to sort of friends. 

It wasn’t immediate, definitely, but they started bumping into each other on the stairs, or in the laundry facilities, a small concrete building next to their apartment block with washers and dryers you had to feed 50 cents to use. The girl, who Enjolras only knew as a letter at that point, always seemed to have the same, disheveled look to her, make up smudged, hair mussed and lazily tied back. Apparently it had not just been that day, because whenever they nodded at each other in the community laundry building, Grantaire had the same look about her. 

It was charming. Sort of. 

Not that Enjolras’ opinion mattered, because R was entitled to look however she wanted just like any woman but- Enjolras usually cut off that train of thought there, because she wasn’t about to start being shallow and focus too much on Grantaire’s looks. Her looks shouldn’t matter. Even if they were nice looks, striking- No. 

But it wasn’t until Enjolras was having a spectacularly bad day did they really talk again. 

And that was really only because R walked into the laundry room as she was slamming her hand on the top of a washing machine, cursing. 

In Enjolras’ defense, it really had been a bad day. She had been woken up by a call from her parents, who had apparently decided to call and not so subtlety imply she was wasting her time trying to live on her own, because they apparently loved treating her like fucking child. Then, Combeferre had called and told her that their organization was going to have trouble reserving the on-campus space they wanted to for meetings, due to some stupid fucking bureaucratic reasons, which meant they would have to find a whole new place to meet.

And then one of the laundry machines ate her two quarters and then still refused to turn on. 

Hence the shouting and slamming the top of the machine, right as R walked in. 

“Woah there Athena!” she laughed, her voice still bearing the slight rasp it had from the first time they met. “Don’t hurt the machine, its just doing its best.”

“No its not!” snapped Enjolras, aware that this was the second time she had actually talked to this person that wasn’t a note or a polite ‘hi’ on the stairs, and this probably wasn’t making her seem any more normal since the last time. “No its not! Its- Its the only machine free and it ate my fucking quarters and it-” 

She had raised her hand to hit it again, when all of a sudden a familiar warm hand caught her wrist. 

“Calm down Athena,” said R, patting Enjolras’ shoulder with her other hand. “Stop beating the merchandise unless you want the landlord to blame you for it being broken. Look, I’m about to move my clothes to the dryer so you can switch to my machine, yeah? I’ll even spot you the quarters.”

Enjolras huffed, and jerked away from her. “Fine. Why are you calling me that?” 

R shrugged and moved over to her machine. “Athena? Oh yeah, I don’t know how to pronounce your name. You should include a pronunciation guide when you sign it.”

“Says the person who gave me a letter as a name.”

She laughed out loud at that, not looking up from the laundry she was unloading. “Cause my name is way too long. Grantaire. Its a pun, a French one, my grandparents were French-”

“Funny,” mumbled Enjolras. “Enjolras, that’s how mine is pronounced.”

“Hm, pretty. So, Enjolras, are you always beating up inanimate objects and yelling at your neighbors, or do you ever take an off day?”

“Its been a bad day.”

“Yeah? Tell me.”

And for some reason she did.

And Grantaire listened. 

It was nice. 

Then, after they had found a place to meet (off campus, much to Enjolras’ annoyance), and the semester as well as meetings started, Enjolras was more than a little surprised to see Grantaire sitting in in the back.

Later she found out it was because she had friends in the group had been trying to get her to come for a while.

Still, it had been a peculiar feeling when she saw her there the first time.

* * *

“She gave you cookies? Her mom’s cookies?” 

Enjolras sighed. 

“Yes, but that’s not the-”

“So that’s who she gave them to this year!” Joly threw his hands up, frustrated. “I can’t believe her!”

“We were revoked cookie privileges,” explained Bossuet. “It was an incident.”

“No one was hurt, she was over reacting.”

“Besides, it was an accident.”

“The worst part was that she gave Musichetta some cookies and she wouldn’t share with us!”

“Okay well,” Enjolras interrupted. “That’s not the point. The point is I have been added to the cookie list and now I want to get Grantaire something for Christmas. And I need ideas.”

She had come to Joly and Bossuet next, because while they hadn’t known Grantaire as long, they were close. She heard them coming over to her apartment sometimes, stomping around loudly and laughing a lot. Grantaire didn’t have a lot of visitors, so Enjolras could always tell when it was Joly and Bossuet.

...Not that she listened to Grantaire a lot. That would be weird. Probably.

The point was, she was sitting in their apartment now.

“Something besides the dependable Enjolras gift card?” chuckled Joly. 

“Look if you don’t like the gift cards-”

“Calm down Enjolras, the gift cards are nice.” Bossuet had no right to roll his eyes like that. “Why Grantaire though?”

Enjolras did not pout, but she would scowl. “Look, just tell me what she would like!”

“But you have to admit-”

“No, I don’t have to admit anything, cause there is nothing to admit!”

“Okay but-”

“Why does everyone act like I’ve got some weird ulterior motive! I want to get Grantaire something besides a gift card but I want some help! Why is that so wrong?”

She hated it when Joly and Bossuet exchanged that look. 

“Have you considered just putting a ribbon around your neck and-”

“Oh my god, shut up!” Joly cut Bossuet off, giggling as he elbowed him in the ribs. “Really though, Grantaire isn’t super picky about gifts. You could get her some new paint brushes and she would love it. She’s always ruining hers.”

“ _You_ could get her anything and she would be happy.” 

Joly giggled and elbowed Bossuet again, and Enjolras didn’t know why he kept doing that.

* * *

The thing was though, even when she got to know Grantaire better than “Noisy Upstairs Neighbor,” their relationship... didn’t exactly go smooth. 

The first meeting Grantaire attended, she sat in the back, next to Jehan, and watched quietly. 

The second time, not so much.

“I’m not saying,” Grantaire had said, hands in the air. “That our society doesn’t need changing! I’m saying its unrealistic to act like a complete paradigm shift is the only progress!”

“Its the only worth while progress! We can’t be placated or celebrate small-”

“Celebrating small victories is all some of us mortals have Athena. We can’t all live on Mount Olympus-”

“What I’m trying to say is that you can’t just throw your hands back and say bad things will happen-”

“But they will Athena! Bad things will always happen! And refusing to acknowledge that helps no one-” 

“Look you-”

So it had not gone well. Courfeyrac still made jokes about it.

The third time, Grantaire stumbled in with her hair loose around her shoulders, wearing a black skirt, her make up uncharacteristically flawless almost to the point where her face looked different overall, and Enjolras did a double take.

“Grantaire,” she greeted. “You look different.” 

In hindsight she could have been more tactful.

Grantaire had turned red. “Well, we can’t all roll out of bed looking like supermodels. I have to put an effort in to look alive.”

“No I didn’t mean- I was just wondering if there’s an occasion.” 

“Just work. I have to go right after this.” Almost nervously Grantaire pushed a black curl out of her face. “I work in a bar. Cocktail waitress. Part time.”

“Oh thats goo-”

“Its not good; its shit. I want to quit. I only started cause I thought I could be a bartender instead one day but its so not worth it. Being pretty is tiring and so is dealing with men calling me ‘sweetie’ all the time and-” Then Grantaire got redder. “Sorry, you don’t care. I don’t mean to vent to you.”

“Its okay,” Enjolras said quickly. “You listened to me venting.”

Grantaire had given her a strange look. Then she smirked. “Well, thanks Athena.”

“You shouldn’t have to put up with a job you hate.” She had said it suddenly, before she even really thought about it. “Especially not if men are sexually harassing you.”

Grantaire had blinked. “I’m a cocktail waitress. Its just part of the job.” 

“Well it shouldn’t be.”

Grantaire smirked wryly. “It is. And besides, I need to make money somehow. Can’t make money off my paintings. We’re getting close to having the same argument as last week. Don’t you have a meeting to start?” 

She didn’t want it to end there. She wanted to ask Grantaire about the paintings, or tell her she was deserved to be happy in her job. But she did have a meeting to start, so instead she watched Grantaire sit down.

The next week Grantaire was back to loose tank tops and grunge-y make up, and for some reason it made Enjolras want to smile.

That was the first time she asked if Grantaire wanted to walk home with her. 

“We’re going the same way,” she had explained it. “So why not?”

Grantaire gave her the same strange look from the week before, then agreed. 

They walked in silence for a while.

Grantaire had broken it. 

“I think I’m going to quit my job.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Its so shitty its distracting me from school.” Then she had smiled, actually smiled. “Besides... I, uh, shouldn’t have to put up with a job I hate.” 

Enjolras had smiled back.

* * *

“You don’t need to be stressing about this in addition to stressing about finals” said Courfeyrac, rolling his eyes. “There will be time to get Grantaire a gift after you pass all your classes.”

Enjolras glared at him over the tops of her reading glasses. “That may be but-”

“Yeah yeah, when you get an idea on your head you just won’t let it go-”

“That’s not what I was going to-”

“Its true though!” Courfeyrac laughed, play-bonking Enjolras on the head with his History textbook. “Look, Enjolras, I think its very sweet that you are trying to woo her with gifts-”

“I’m not trying to-”

“But I’m sure she will be happy about anything. You don’t need to stress about this.”

Enjolras scowled. She didn’t pout, she scowled. 

“Yes but I-”

“Knock knock!”

Enjolras jumped as Grantaire stuck her head through the door, glaring at the way Courfeyrac chuckled at her. 

“Hey- oh sorry. Hey Courf. Your door was kind of open so I was making sure-”

“My fault,” said Courfeyrac quickly. “I was raised in a barn. Wassup R! How are finals going? Do art majors have finals?”

“Final projects.” Grantaire shrugged, stepping into the apartment a little and leaning on the doorframe. “So no tests, just a lot of painting. How goes the studying?”

“Terrible. I think I’m gaining negative knowledge.” Courfayrac laughed. Then: “Hey so, you have any Christmas plans Grantaire? Any gift you’re particularly wanting?”

Enjolras was going to die. And people said she wasn’t subtle.

Grantaire just made a face. “The plan is to order Chinese food and see how much wine I can drink on my own. I can’t go home for the day, so like...”

(And Enjolras hadn’t even considered that. She knew Grantaire’s parents lived like 200 miles away, and that despite her pretty good relationship with her mother she had a rocky one with her father but-)

“Hey, Enjolras is staying in town too, aren’t you Enjolras?”

Enjolras blinked as Grantaire looked to her then, blushed a bit. “Oh yeah, well. We’re not doing a family thing this year. My parents are... going on a cruise instead.”

Saying it was embarrassing, but Grantaire’s barking laugh at it was more so. 

“God, your parents are a stereotype, huh Rapunzel? It will never cease to amaze me how you choose to like in this shitty building when your parents have the idle money spending thing down pat.”

“Well,” huffed Enjolras. “They aren’t exactly my role models.”

“I wonder why.” Grantaire grinned. “Well, I was really just stopping by. I need to go to the store. You want anything?”

“Some Red Bull?” 

Grantaire rolled her eyes but kept grinning. “I’d chastise you for drinking that shit too much but god knows its gotten me through some painting deadlines in the past. What about you Courf?”

“I’m good.” Enjolras could hear the slight hint of a held back laugh in his voice. Traitor. 

“Okay, see you in a bit then.” Before turning to leave though, she paused and turned to smirk at Enjolras.

“Cute glasses by the way.” Then she left.

Enjolras’ face was on fire, and at least Courfeyrac waited until Grantaire was definitely out of earshot to start howling in laughter.

* * *

When Enjolras and Grantaire started walking home together, something sort of changed about their relationship. 

For one, Enjolras began to look forward to the time they spent together, just the two of them. It made sense for them to walk home together, they lived in the same building and the meetings ran late, but it sort of became more than that. Having Grantaire in the meetings was one thing, it was fine, but being up and personal with her, debating with her, watching her eyes light up and the way she would lick her lips as she got ready to rebut Enjolras... 

It was nice. They fell into a routine pretty quickly, where they would debate, sometimes big things, sometimes stupid things, the whole way bak to their apartment building, and then they would stand at the bottom of the stairs and continue for up to half an hour, until someone got too cold or realized how long they had been standing there, and then they would part ways. 

And Enjolras had started to look forward to it. Which. Well, maybe it was weird. But Enjolras wasn’t going to think about that too hard. She had other things to think about. 

Of course though, one night, around midterms, it didn’t go so well. It was funny, in a way, how most of the things in Enjolras’ odd friendship with Grantaire was started by one of them having bad days. It was odd, like they were a chemical reaction waiting to happen. 

This particular incident had taken place at a meeting, which was usually when Enjolras felt at her most stable. Not this time though.

The thing was, sometimes their club would advertise open meeting where anyone could come, usually with the promise it would focus around a particular topic. And this meeting, coinciding with midterms the way it did, also happened to coincide with Enjolras being particularly sleep deprived. 

Which meant when some douche kept talking over her in the meeting, it just made her frustrated. It wasn’t like when Grantaire cut in- for one she knew Grantaire, and Grantaire made actually good points. And didn’t sneer at her, then actually listen when Courfeyrac or Combeferre cut in. 

Grantaire was actually pretty quiet that meeting, scoffing sometimes when the annoying guy made a particularly rude point, going so far as to groan out loud when he said something rude about feminism. 

It wouldn’t have been that bad, if after the meeting he hadn’t come up and hit on her. 

“You’re actually trying to pick me up,” she had snapped, incredulous. “After you said I was brainwashed by the feminist agenda? Why the hell do you think I would go for that?” 

“You don’t have to be a bitch about it,” he had snapped back. 

Normally, Enjolras would have brushed a comment like that off. But she was tired and frustrated, and didn’t know how to respond. She hated it when her words failed her. 

So, when Enjolras stormed out of the Musain to find Grantaire already waiting for her outside, a cigarette in her mouth, she didn’t even pause and stormed past her. 

“Woah,” she heard Grantaire call after her. “Slow down there Athena! Let us mere mortals catch up.”

And, like a chemical, Enjolras reacted.

“Stop calling me that!” she shouted, whirling around on Grantaire, who stopped short and stared at her owlishly in response. “Stop calling me that! I hate it when you call me that! Its- Its so fucking patronizing I- I-” 

Enjolras could be very eloquent when she wanted to, but it wasn’t consistent. Sometimes she got mad and tripped and stumbled over her words, and it was so frustrating, upsetting, when she couldn’t get her racing thoughts out of her mind; when she couldn’t even control her own words.

So, instead of finishing her thought or letting Grantaire respond, she gave an angry shout and turned back around, continuing to storm away. Behind her she hears the faint noise of Grantaire chasing after her, the clunking of her combat boots ( _which was probably part of why she was so noisy, fucking_ -) and eventually her calling “Enjolras!” and catching her shoulder with a warm hand.

“Enjolras, what’s wrong? You-” 

“Fuck off Grantaire! I don’t- I don’t need people patronizing me when they don’t even respect me and-and-”

“Enjolras, what are you talking about?” Grantaire had a look in her eyes, sort of like when they debated, but different. More... something. Enjolras couldn’t put her finger on it. “Do you think I don’t respect you? Because- I mean fucking hell Enjolras-”

“People don’t respect me!” Her throat felt tight, and she hated this. She was standing in the street, and not many people were around but maybe some could hear her, hear her losing control. 

“They-They just think that cause I’m- fuck, cause I’m a girl- _woman,_ and I have long hair that I like to use nice shampoo on, and I get emotional; they think that my opinion isn’t worth anything because I’m not perfect and I get loud- If I were a guy no one would question it!” Enjolras didn’t cry. Enjolras _didn’t_ cry. “I get called bitchy and overemotional and people only ever care what I have to say if I say it the right way and look the right way while saying it, and- and-”

And then she was being hugged. Hugged by Grantaire. And that had never happened before.

“Enjolras,” she heard Grantaire saying that. “I promise I don’t think any of that and fuck the assholes who do. Enjolras...” 

Enjolras didn’t cry. Except maybe a little bit. In her defense she was very sleep deprived.

Which is how Grantaire ended up bringing her back to her apartment, letting her sit on her futon as she shuffled around in her kitchen, making Enjolras cocoa. No one had made Enjolras cocoa since she was a kid. She hadn’t let anyone make her cocoa, not even Courfeyrac. 

She let Grantaire. 

And Grantaire’s place was kind of cozy in a way, posters all over the walls, some clothes on the floor Grantaire that she had hurriedly tried to pick up as she came in, and, oddly enough, a rather large snow globe collection lining a shelf.

She held the cocoa in her hands, staring at the snow globes.

“I’m sorry about that,” she mumbled when Grantaire sat down next to her on the futon. “I didn’t mean to lash out at you cause some asshole-”

“Its fine. Drink your cocoa.” 

Enjolras did. They were quiet. Enjolras hated quiet, so she broke it. 

“What’s with all the snow globes?”

“Oh.” Grantaire blushed. It was the first time she had ever seen her blush before. “Its... I know its silly. I swear I’m not a secret old lady or something. Just, my abuelita gave me...” She paused before pointing at one specific snow globe, an obviously old one with a carousel horse in the middle. “That one. When I was a kid I loved to look at her snow globe collection and that one was my favorite. So she let me have it and... You know, after I came out I didn’t have a great relationship with my family, except for my mom and her so like... I don’t know, the collection kind of grew.”

“That’s nice.” She never would have thought, Grantaire, who was cool and chain smoked and liked to look like she was some kind of rocker chick half the time, secretly collected snow globes. There they were though. It was... charming.

“Yeah well.” Grantaire shifted and shrugged, before looking Enjolras in the eyes. “Do you really hate it when I call you Athena?”

Enjolras paused. “I... I don’t know. I don’t mind the nickname but sometimes when you... you know, when you call me a goddess and yourself a mortal, I don’t know, it makes me feel like you’re putting me on a pedestal or... putting yourself down. I don’t know.”

Grantaire’s face was unreadable. They were silent for a bit longer.

Then Grantaire smiled. 

“Can I give you another nickname then?” 

Enjolras felt warm. “If you want.”

She listened to Grantaire walking around that night, listening to the creaking of the floorboards as she stared at the ceiling, lying in her bed, thinking about how warm Grantaire was when she had hugged her. 

Then the next time Grantaire saw her she called her Rapunzel, tugging on a lock of her long hair lightly. 

“Does that make you Flynn Rider?” Joly had called from across the room, and Enjolras didn’t know what that meant.

* * *

Okay so maybe Enjolras had a bit of a crush on Grantaire. That wasn’t the point. 

The point was Grantaire was warm and friendly and rarely smiled but when she did it was a tight, shy thing, and Enjolras just really wanted to make her smile.

* * *

Finals were hell. They were always hell. Enjolras ate all of the bunuelos and didn’t sleep enough and got cinnamon and sugar in her hair.

She kicked ass though, if she did say so herself.

Not so much on the finding a gift for Grantaire front. She asked _everyone_. Bahorel suggested she give her brass knuckles. Feuilly tried to teach her how to pick out art supplies and that made Enjolras’ head spin with confusion. She had even gone to Éponine, one of Grantaire’s old friends. Éponine hated Enjolras. When she had tried to ask she had just glared at her.

“What, are you in love with Grantaire now?” 

Enjolras had sputtered and Éponine had glared harder. It wasn’t a productive conversation. 

She still had nothing though. It was frustrating. 

Then, one day, she was sitting in her apartment, lazily scanning NPR news stories on her laptop and fuming about her complete inability to buy a goddamn present for someone, she heard a series of loud noises above her head, a crash, and then a series of cursing that she definitely recognized as Grantaire’s voice.

So of course her first logical thought was that Grantaire was dying. So of course Enjolras needed to run up the stairs to her apartment. 

But Grantaire wasn’t dying, because she answered the door. She did look like she was about to cry though.

“Grantaire,” gasped Enjolras, a little winded from running up the stairs that way. “I heard you shouting, are you okay?”

Grantaire didn’t look okay. “Its- My snow globe- It- I’m sorry-” She wiped her eyes very quickly, her mascara smearing. “Its stupid- I was moving one of my paintings and it bumped into my shelf... I should have been more careful- I’m so stupid-”

Because Enjolras was a master of tact, she pushed past Grantaire to see what the hell she was saying. 

And there it was. 

“Oh, Grantaire,” gasped Enjolras. 

“I’m so stupid,” mumbled Grantaire behind her. “I can’t believe I did that.”

The snow globe that had been Grantaire’s first, the carousel horse from her grandmother, was broken on the floor. 

Quietly Enjolras helped her sweep up the broken glass and mop up the water and glitter, and didn’t say anything about the way Grantaire blinked back tears the whole time.

“What do you want me to do with these?” she finally asked, holding the horse and the base, cracked apart from each other, in her hands. 

“Just throw them away,” grumbled Grantaire, flopping down onto her futon. “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t fucking matter. Its- Its stupid anyway.”

“Its not stupid Grantaire-”

“It is! I mean, god, I can’t even go home for Christmas cause I moved so far away from my family cause my dad hates me and I’m still trying to act like these stupid fucking trinkets are my family and I-” She sniffed, wiping her eyes again. “I just always fuck everything up.” 

“Grantaire-”

“Just throw it out. God, I need a fucking drink.” 

Enjolras looked down at the broken snow globe in her hand. And suddenly she knew what she was going to do.

* * *

Enjolras held the package she had wrapped in simple red paper she had borrowed from Combeferre in her hands, staring at Grantaire’s door and the number 305. 

It was Christmas Eve.

The days in between finals and Christmas had mostly been a rush, but she had managed to get Grantaire’s present delivered, wrap it, and now she was standing in front of Grantaire’s door, too scared to knock. She knew Grantaire was in. She had heard the noise of her walking to her kitchen and back, and now she could see that her light was on.

But she was too scared to knock. How stupid. 

It was also beginning to become a real problem because it was also snowing and thus was quite cold. And Enjolras hadn’t put gloves on. She didn’t really think this through. 

Right as she had really built up her nerve though and raised her hand to knock, the door swung open and she was suddenly face to face with Grantaire, who was pulling on a scarf, a messenger bag over her shoulder. 

“Enjolras,” yelped Grantaire in surprise. “What are you-”

“Grantaire!” Enjolras was equally surprised, trying not to seem like she had been standing outside of her door for five minutes like an idiot, which was kind of hard because she was shivering. “I was just about to knock!”

“What- Oh my god Rapunzel, you’re freezing! Come in!”

And then Grantaire was dragging her inside, which was actually quite nice. It was warm in there, warm and bright and there was a small fake christmas tree in the corner, covered mostly in what appeared to be tacky pig themed ornaments. 

“That was a gift from Joly and Bossuet,” Grantaire explained, seeing that Enjolras was looking at the tree. “Come on Rapunzel, let’s get you warmed up. How long were you out there?”

“Not that long!” Only sort of a lie. “Were you about to go out? I can come by later if you had-”

“Oh, uh, no. No its not important. I was just going to pop out to get smokes. Sit down.”

No Enjolras definitely couldn’t sit down. She was too nervous to sit down. Which was stupid. She wished Combeferre was still in town, he would know what to do, but he had already left for his mother’s house and she couldn’t bother him. 

Still, she had to do this. So instead of sitting she just thrust the package in Grantaire’s direction. “For you!”

Grantaire blinked, then took the present, feeling its weight in her hands. “You didn’t have to-”

“I wanted to.” Enjolras schooled her nervous face into a smile. “Open it! Unless you want to wait till tomorrow that’s fine-”

“No, lets do it now.” Grantaire sat, pulling apart the paper, but Enjolras was still too nervous sit.

Quickly Grantaire tore through the paper, the opened the plain brown box and pulled out the gift and then-

Didn’t move. At all. Didn’t even react. Just sort of froze.

“Is it okay?” Enjolras couldn’t help but ask. “If-If you don’t like it that’s fine but I thought maybe-”

“Is it,” interrupted Grantaire, not looking up, voice thick. “The same...? How did you...?” 

Suddenly she held out the gift in her hands. It was a snow globe, with a now shiny carousel horse inside it. “Its my abuela’s snow globe,” Grantaire said desperately, as if she was trying to believe it herself. 

Enjolras, who never lowered her eyes to anyone, looked down. “When it broke I took the pieces and looked... and they have people to fix stuff like that. Snow globe doctors. Mostly they just fix the glass but when I called they also said that they polish it and everything and I thought... I mean I understand if you don’t want to keep it...”

“No its not that I just... I can’t believe you...” And then Grantaire was crying, full on crying, and that was the opposite of what Enjolras wanted. 

“Oh my god R, no, I’m sorry I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have presumed-”

“Stop apologizing you idiot!” Grantaire uselessly wiped her cheek. “I love it- I just can’t believe you... God fucking dammit Enjolras I...” Then Grantaire was rifling through her messenger bag, still on her shoulder, and out of it she pulled out a wrapped package. 

On it was a small note: _To: Rapunzel From: Flynn Rider,_ and under that a small doodle of Enjolras with a frying pan and a mad look on her face.

Enjolras hadn’t even considered that Grantaire might get her a present too. 

“Open it,” mumbled Grantaire, and Enjolras obeyed. Inside the box were earmuffs, plain, but red and fluffy. 

“In there there’s also a stupid note about me being noisy. I was going to leave it on your doorstep just now. You got me this- this wonderful thing and I was just kind of an asshole and you...”

Suddenly Enjolras had strode over to where Grantaire was sitting, and was leaning down to kiss her. 

A second later she broke away and straightened up, awkwardly avoiding Grantaire’s shocked gaze.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I shouldn’t have done that without asking. I just didn’t want you thinking- the idea that gifts need to be reciprocal are a stupid consumerist notion which is why no matter what anyone says I didn’t get you this just because you shared your mother’s cookies- though I appreciate them very much. I-I got it because I like you and want you to be happy- Not that you should take this as pressure to date me! I really just-”

Then Grantaire was standing, and kissing Enjolras. She was still holding the snow globe, and Enjolras could feel it pressing into her stomach, but Grantaire’s lips were soft and everything was perfect. 

Then Grantaire broke away and whispered “You like me?”

Enjolras blushed. “Well, yes. Combeferre and Courfeyrac both think its very funny.”

“And you’ve just been letting me pine after you this whole time?”

“You’ve been pining?” Did that mean Grantaire-

“I thought it was obvious.”

Suddenly a lot of comments their friends had said over the past few months made sense. Jehan’s comment about beauty, pretty much everything Joly and Bossuet said, the way Éponine glared...

“Oh my god,” groaned Enjolras. “I’m an idiot.”

“A little bit.” Grantaire was smiling now, though her eyes were still a bit wet. Then she cleared her throat. “Did you, uh, did you want to spend Christmas with me tomorrow. I know you aren’t going home either so I thought maybe...”

“I would love to,” said Enjolras quickly, and then leaned in to kiss her again.

Overall, she thought distantly as Grantaire’s lips pressed against her’s, she was very glad she had moved into this apartment building.

**Author's Note:**

> Gift for nattoki! The prompt gave a few options for a modern AU, the ones I went with were Rule 63 (lesbians) au. neighbors AU, and a holiday AU. 
> 
> Title is from the song Cuddle Fuddle by Passion Pit, which ended up fueling this fic toward the end. It was also what inspired Grantaire calling Enjolras Rapunzel.


End file.
